The Labour Day weekend has begun. I have found myself in a bar already, There is country music playing. It sounds good to my Friday night in the offing rascally bad intentions.
The staff are pretty and I can see them all from my seat in front of the shelves of hard liquor. They, no doubt, are anticipating a big tip night to help pay for last minute school supplies for their children.
I have been in this bar countless times. It has become a little run down over the years. For all that the wear is not unappealing. She’s a pretty, old opioid addict danced out ballet lead she is.
Before I left one of the old boys who came in after me asked my server, “How long you been working here?” Every bar has someone working there who has been there longer than anyone else. She was the one.
“Been here 15 years,” she told him proudly.
“15 years!” The old boy protested. “You look like a 14 year old with a boob job”
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=upOeq9fb38g&pp=ygUWU3VyZmluIG9uIGhlcm9pbiBjb3Zlcg%3D%3D
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